


As The Shore Calls The Waves

by CeridwenofWales



Series: The Sea Wolves: An Alternate Timeline [1]
Category: Vikings (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Vikings, Anxiety, Anxiety Attacks, Anxiety Disorder, F/M, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Mental Health Issues, Past Rape/Non-con, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pregnancy, Slavery, Slow Burn, Unplanned Pregnancy, Vikings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-08
Updated: 2019-01-23
Packaged: 2019-07-08 08:25:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,233
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15926603
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CeridwenofWales/pseuds/CeridwenofWales
Summary: This work is an alternate (and hopeful?) version of what could have happened in The Sea Wolves.Do I believe they would live happily ever after in this scenario?No! There are still clear issues that must be addressed here such as Ivar feeling entitled to touch her without asking for her permission beforehand, etc...Big thanks to @grungyblonde who made me excited all over again about this story. Our intense conversations with so many "if" scenarios for The Sea Wolves was crucial for this piece to be written, so I dedicate this piece to you as a birthday gift. May all your dreams come true... especially the dirty ones, muahahaha. *wink*I must show my love and appreciation for @whenimaunicorn too. You've been with me since the start of this journey, always supporting and inspiring me to keep going. This series wouldn't exist without your encouragement. I love you! :)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [grungyblonde](https://archiveofourown.org/users/grungyblonde/gifts), [ifinkufreaky](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ifinkufreaky/gifts).



 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Moyra felt her hands trembling and cold sweat streaming down her spine as the horns blew, announcing Ivar’s arrival after all those silent months.

 

 _How will he react?_ Moyra asked herself not for the first time since the discovery of her pregnancy. As much as she wanted to be free of this haunting doubt, she was frightened the answer would mean her decision to nurture this baby in her womb and heart had been in vain, and Ivar would be the one to decide if the child would live or not.

 

Ubbe asked if she wanted to follow him and wait for the ships to berth at the harbor, but she couldn’t stand there and give Ivar hope she had missed him. Even if there were moments she worried he wouldn’t return. Moyra cradled her swollen belly, feeling the excited kicks.

 

“Are you happy your father is back?” She smiled, running her hands over her belly as the movement increased.

 

“I hope he will love you as much as I do,” Moyra whispered, as tears blurred her sight. The agitated kicks turned into only a fluttering sensation and Moyra sighed, worried her child could sense her fear, “Don’t worry! I will not allow any harm to befall you.”

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 _Did she miss me?_ Ivar thought as his fleet was heading home after all those months. The doubt disturbed him through the journey and while he hoped Moyra would have missed him, Ivar believed it would be enough if she hadn't wished his death.

 

 _What will I do?_ The question remained there, disturbing Ivar as the ships slid into the harbor. For the first time, Ivar knew he couldn't simply follow his instincts, not when his urges were the reason for her sorrow. Ivar would have to show the silent woman whose dark eyes plagued his every dream her feelings mattered to him. He would have to show her he couldn't have pleasure while she feared him. Not anymore. _How can I show my desire won't blur my judgment and control my actions?_

 

Ivar could see Ubbe standing on the dock, but there was no sign of Moyra. For a moment, he felt his stomach tightening at the thought something happened to her or that Ubbe failed and she managed to escape.

 

The idea of returning to an empty and cold bed made his heart beat as fast as when he was about to engage in battle, except that if Moyra fled, he couldn't do anything. _Where could I search for her?_

 

Worse than dreading the loneliness, Ivar feared Moyra could be in danger, wandering alone as when he had found her trying to escape all those months before.

 

 

* * *

 

 

I feel like I need to keep my mind busy, working at the loom, but standing is making my legs ache and tingle. I should sit for a while and wait. Wait for Ubbe and Ivar. _If he had survived._ The anticipation makes my hands tremble and while I want the doubt to end, I fear what the ocean brought me.  _Is he dead? What will Ivar do when he sees me?_

 

A brief relief washes over me as I recall the many times he took me and did nothing to prevent making me swell with his seed.  _He wanted it._

 

Still, in the back of my mind, there is an unnerving sensation that doesn't allow me to breathe and makes my chest heavy when I try to inhale. I know the signs of what is to come when my vision starts blurring.

 

I sit, trying to slow down my heartbeat and thoughts.  _He won't hurt us_. My body is preparing for a battle or to run, but I know that I have nowhere to go nor do I have means to fight Ivar. My only option is to wait.

 

 

* * *

 

 

"I see your incursion was successful, brother" Ubbe grinned, walking closer to Ivar and thinking about how he would tell him of Moyra's pregnancy.

 

“Yes!” Ivar replied but his eyes were searching for someone else.

 

“Are you missing someone, Ivar?” Ubbe said with a smirk.

 

“Of course I am,” Ivar hissed through clenched teeth, almost pushing Ubbe aside to walk to the hall where he hoped she would be.

 

“Where is… she?” Ivar stuttered, embarrassed that he didn't even know her name.

 

“Mo…” Ubbe stammered, remembering Ivar didn't know her name nor that Moyra had been learning his language, “She is at home. You know she doesn't like to leave the house. I must tell you..." 

 

“We can talk later.” 

 

Ivar turned to leave, but Ubbe held his arm, “She is carrying your child, Ivar!”

 

Ivar looked over his shoulder at Ubbe, unable to ask his brother to repeat the words so he wouldn't think it was some trick from Loki, to give him hope the Gods intended them to be together. _Why else would she be carrying a child?_

 

 

* * *

 

 

After feeling the waves of terror that threatened to drown me ebbed, I decided to work at the loom once more. But I felt my heart beating frantically when I rose to my feet. Ivar was standing at the door, gazing at me. I didn't know for how long he was watching me, and I couldn't decide if the fact he was hesitant to approach should comfort or torment me.

 

My legs were shaking, and it was like a fist was wrapped around my throat when I tried to breathe. I held onto the chair, afraid I would fall because of the dizziness.

 

His gaze moved from my face to my belly and I couldn't read his feelings. I opened my mouth, unsure if to speak or breathe. _What would I tell him?_

 

After being silent for that long, I was afraid the words would be trapped in my throat forever. I was forced to learn how to remain passive and endure the mighty waves of his lust and violence in the hope I would be able to float over them, instead of drowning in their monstrosity.

 

Ivar appeared so contemplative, almost pained. But before I could think about what could be tormenting his mind, he hurried toward me. I took a cautious step back, still intent on keeping some distance, at least until I knew his thoughts and, more important, his intentions. Ivar hesitated as if my fear had offended him. He blinked, and I could see the corner of his mouth twitching. I wondered if at this distance he could hear my labored breathing.

 

I shouldn't allow any part of my heart to feel for him, still, I couldn’t avoid wishing he was not staring at me that way. As if he were the wounded prey at my mercy, waiting for the final blow.

 

Ivar took another step in my direction and seeing I remained motionless, he made his way across the hall until he was before me. There was nothing I could do to prevent myself from closing my eyes.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Ivar tilted his head to one side, pressing his lips tightly together as he appraised Moyra, seeming like he was the one preparing for the worst. Seeing her so vulnerable and terrified was affecting Ivar in a way he had rarely been before. Although it was not like him in the least and Ivar had no clue how to proceed, he was suddenly taken by an animalist urge to comfort Moyra, but the realization he was the source of her fears made his throat tighten.

 

Moyra shielded her face with one arm as her other hand slid over her swollen belly. Tears welled in Ivar’s eyes and he waited for Moyra to understand he wouldn’t hurt her. The wait was torturous, but Ivar felt rewarded when she dropped her arm to her side and blinked her teary eyes at him.

 

Moyra could have never predicted this and let out a shaky breath when Ivar knelt at her feet. After all this time having him towering over her, she thought about how strange and ironic it was the scene of a King kneeling before his slave in reverence. She let her gaze trail over his face for a few longs seconds in a mix of fascination and discomfort. Ivar inhaled deeply and wrapped his arms around Moyra, pressing his head against her belly.

 

Moyra threw her head back, closing her eyes to clear her mind from the turbulent doubts. A strangled sob ripped its way out of Ivar’s throat and Moyra hesitantly lifted one of her hands to his head, stroking his hair.

 

“Are… are you happy?” Moyra stammered, almost inaudible and Ivar looked up at her with a frown. A loud exhale passed through his nostrils, making them flare and Moyra swallowed, recoiling her hand.

 

 

* * *

 

 

I shouldn’t care about how he feels, but something deep inside of me stirs and urges me to ask. Maybe the part of me that was groomed to remain compliant to his desires and be relieved when his needs were fulfilled will never go away.

 

The wait for his answer is agonizing and my chest is clenching painfully when I try to breathe through my nose.

 

“Yes! I'm… I'm happy,” Ivar confesses at last and I have no reason to doubt him when I feel his laughter vibrating against my stomach.

 

I don't think I'll ever grow used to hear him laugh, even though it is a subdued one. Eventually, he looks up at me and, finding my scowl, his smile fades.

 

“Are you… are you happy?” Ivar stutters, the corner of his mouth twitching.

 

“I… I'm scared!” I admit, feeling my mouth dry.

 

“I will… I will not hurt you ever again.” He holds my hands, and I feel my cheeks heating under his scrutiny.

 

“But the baby… the baby will be a slave,” Tears are streaming down my face and Ivar helps me to sit down when the sobs make my body shake.

 

I hide my face with my hands and Ivar runs his hand up and down my back until I stop weeping. I'm mortified to look at him once more, but his words are so unexpected that I need to see his face as a way to understand if I can believe his promise.

 

 "Our son will be a Prince!"

 

 

* * *

 

 

I open my mouth to ask her for how long she can understand and talk to me and yet, had chosen to remain silent but I decide that none of these questions matter now.

 

“Our son will be a Prince,” She looks at me through narrowed eyes, clearly doubting my words, “and you will be a free woman.” I beam at her, desiring she will see how determined I’m to make her happy.

 

 _And we can marry_. I think but don't dare to say it out loud. She will accept it once she realizes this child is tying us forever.

 

She sniffs, and I lift my hand to wipe away her tears when a voice interrupts our moment.

 

“Maybe a Princess, Ivar,” Ubbe is grinning and I can almost see myself holding a small version of my love in my arms. I allow the momentary joy to seep into my heart, but there is hesitation in her eyes when I glance at her. As much as I want to show my appreciation Ubbe cared for her while I was away, I feel like my brother needs to be reminded he is an intruder, ruining a moment that should be ours only.

 

“Or even both. See how big her belly is.” Ubbe shifts closer, the corner of his eyes wrinkling with his wide smile, “You must drink water and I believe it's time to eat your berries.” Ubbe glances at her and she nods.

 

“Go and bring the berries then, brother!” I shout, and she flinches. I tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, smiling to show my anger is not directed at her.

 

“Shh, my love. I’m here now,” I lean forward, kissing her forehead.

 

 

* * *

 

 

His smile appeared genuine, eyes lit up as Ivar leaned closer to me, almost like he was anticipating more of a reaction after pronouncing the words I’d been craving since he took everything from me. _Free_. Could I be truly free when my every action affected not only myself but the child in my womb? A child that was as much mine as Ivar's.

 

 _Was the baby alright despite all of this?_ As if feeling he had been summoned, my child started moving. _Was he trying to send me a message or is he just stretching his limbs?_

 

I stroked my swollen belly, hoping the gesture would soothe him. _What if he felt my apprehension and was affected by it?_ The notion that he was suffering from any of this brought tears to my eyes and caused my throat to tighten painfully. I should believe he would be alright. He survived so much already.

 

I wanted to believe Ivar would find a way to control his temper when things didn't go his way, but seeing how rudely he spoke to Ubbe made me see I still couldn't trust him. Not yet. It would hurt me more to open my heart in vain. I wouldn't allow him to hurt me further than he already did by believing he could be different.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Moyra desired to share the happiness around her as music and laughter filled the hall, but it seemed any inkling of joy she could find in captivity would always be tainted with some portion of sorrow and pain.

 

_How can I celebrate another of their successful violent invasions? How can I be pleased to see Ivar coming back, knowing his good fortune is others' disgrace?_

 

Her mind remained disturbed through the celebration while Ivar congratulated and rewarded his men for their role in the incursion that brought them gold and slaves. Being a captive herself, she couldn't ignore the downcast stares or glazed eyes searching for any gesture of kindness among the crowd.

 

"My friends," Ivar's hoarse voice interrupted her thoughts and Moyra turned to peek at Ivar as he stood up from his chair at the center of the high table, addressing his throng of guests, "raise your cups with me in celebration of our victory over the kingdom of _Alt Clut m_ any said would be impossible to conquer," Moyra noticed Ivar smirked at a man who was chained and heavily beaten. The crowd cheered as expected and some warriors even spat on the stranger's face.

 

_It must be their King!_

 

“The Gods have been generous with us and I'm pleased to announce that they granted me something more precious than gold,” Ivar glanced at Moyra and she felt her heart skip a beat, “They saw fit to bless me with a child.” Ivar swiveled his entire body toward her, gently placing his free hand on her shoulder with a bright smile.

 

Moyra gasped, looking down the table as the warriors roared and stomped their approval, feeling her cheeks heating as all eyes focused on her. She couldn't tell seeing Ivar delighted with their child was unpleasant, but having his people staring at her was terrifying. After all those months trying to remain invisible, Moyra doubted she would grow used to be constantly under their scrutiny as she imagined her new role as the mother of Ivar’s child required.

 

Moyra noticed the jealousy in the eyes of the women who probably envied her and wanted to scream that none of this was her choice. If she could decide her fate, she would be still living on the farm with her parents. So much pain could have been avoided if she could control her destiny, but she couldn't think only about her when another life was growing inside of her. Ivar might have put the baby into her womb against her will, but it was her choice to keep and love her child.

 

If the baby enthusiastically kicking her ribs would be the source of love God saw fit to soothe her soul with, Moyra was decided to embrace it.

 

For her baby, she couldn't remain passive, hoping to float above the roaring waves, she would have to navigate them. For her baby, Moyra couldn't flinch or hesitate before any of those people who believed to be superior and allowed to look down at her. For her baby, Moyra lifted her chin and stared into the eyes of each person gathered there.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

“Here,” Ivar bid, his voice ragged in her ear. Moyra turned to see he was holding out a piece of roasted lamb. Moyra tilted her head, exhaling and Ivar smiled to encourage her, “It's delicious!”

 

She nodded, lifting her hand to catch the meat. Ivar grinned, watching Moyra eating and noticing her long eyelashes fluttering. Enthralled, he watched as she ate, oblivious to the way his presence was affecting her.

 

Ivar murmured, “Ubbe said you should eat berries every day,” After having listened to her voice, Ivar thirsted for more of her words. Words that would communicate more than the fear for herself or their child.

 

Moyra was breathing through her mouth, face flushing as Ivar’s husky voice made her shudder. She couldn’t ignore him searching her face for a reaction, so Moyra nodded. Ivar could not hold back an exasperated sigh and Moyra gulped, peeking at him out of the corner of her eyes.

 

“These are so sweet, not as much as you though,” Ivar chuckled, lifting a blueberry to her lips. Moyra blinked but decided she should comply and eat from his hand.

 

 _How much damage will this bring at this point?_ Moyra pondered, feeling her hands sweating.

 

She closed her lips around the fruit and bit it, making the juice flow and paint her lips. Before Moyra could lick them clean, Ivar brushed his thumb over her lips. There was no mistaking the hunger with which his eyes were focused on her mouth, nor the way his heated gaze was drawn to the rise and fall of her chest. Moyra trembled in response to his lingering stare.

 

 _Was she peeking at my mouth just now?_ Ivar wondered, the thought not doing much to quell his ardor.

 

While Ivar could read her hesitation, to see Moyra biting at her lip and looking back at him with wide eyes, brought the lewdest images to his mind and he was suddenly overwhelmed by how much he wanted her.

 

“ _Elskan_ _,”_ Ivar rasped under his breath, bringing her hands to his lips and kissing her knuckles.

 

“Can I go to bed now?” Moyra begged with a whisper, surprising Ivar.

 

“Yes! You must be exhausted,” Ivar let out something in between a grunt and a sigh, a small frown creased his brow, but he beamed at her nonetheless.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

It had been so long since Ivar last claimed her and while her mind had been clouded with other thoughts in his absence, now that she was within his reach, Moyra dreaded he would grow impatient and just attack her with as much ferocity as when he first took her.

 

In a sense, she felt like an experienced warrior who might come to fear the prospect of battle after having stayed inert too long. Most of all though, the idea of undressing before him after all the changes her body went through made her nervous. She couldn't ignore how he had stared at her stomach and swollen breasts.

 

The apprehension his daunting presence always caused was now entangled with an intriguing throb in her lower belly which made her eyelids heavy and mouth dry.

 

The touch of his warm lips still lingered on her skin and the memory of his scent enveloping her was making her heart pound violently in her chest. Tears started blurring her sight as Moyra thought her life would be so much easier if she could simply and only hate Ivar.

 

Looking around herself, Moyra took a deep, shivering breath, her heart aching and in her throat at once.

 

 _I need to stop crying! It's not good for you, my love_ , she reasoned, struggling to control her emotions while caressing her stomach.

 

“Is that you trying to tie your parents?” Moyra mumbled, looking down at her belly and feeling the familiar fluttering of her child moving within her.

 

Moyra would be lying to herself if she said Ivar had never been affectionate with her before, he had quite often, only his touch had almost always either ignited the flames of his ravenous lust or happened just after the act. And that was possibly another reason why she was reluctant to surrender to him again, for fear that he stopped being tender with her for no other reason than being gentle.

 

_Will he return to his beastly behavior if I allow him into my bed?_

 

She was undressing when a well-known meow attracted her attention. Moyra laughed, looking at the cat who was trying to jump onto the bed, "I'm sorry, but I don't think Ivar will want to share the bed with you," She whispered, stroking the top of the animal's head.

 

The cat had been resolute not to leave Moyra sleep alone since Ivar's departure and her protective demeanor seemed to grow side by side with Moyra's belly. Moyra found herself unable to banish her companion after all the troubled months she had shown her loyalty. The sight of the cat circling and scratching the covers to find a comfortable position to nestle in was so amusing that, for an instant, Moyra put her troubles aside. 

 

"I can't argue with you, can I?" Moyra smirked and the cat purred, "Just as I thought," Moyra sighed, slipping into the furs with her cat.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Ivar smiled when he entered their chamber and saw she was fast asleep in bed. His eyes wandered over her new forms, noticeable even under the covers. _She worries about our child. I can't allow her to doubt I'll take care of them._

 

The cat he had given her was nestled against Moyra's belly, one of its paws resting over the protuberance Ivar imagined their baby curled up within. While Ivar found its devotion honorable, something deep inside of him stirred at the thought he was being usurped, first by Ubbe and now by the cat lazily blinking at him.

 

"Move!" Ivar grunted, moving his hands to chase the animal away.

 

The cat hissed, lifting her paw to scratch Ivar. The sudden movement made Moyra groan, but her eyes remained closed.

 

"Is that what you want? To wake her, stupid cat?" Ivar sneered, clenching his fists. His fury was rewarded with a loud purr. Ivar felt like the cat was challenging him to see who would have more to lose if Moyra woke up.

  
Ivar cursed under his breath while the cat ever so slowly paced to the end of the bed, nestling at Moyra's feet. He sighed, glaring at the animal. 

 

Ivar slid into the covers, wrapping his arms around her. Moyra blinked her eyelids slowly, yawning and Ivar leaned down to breathe in the scent coming from her hair.

 

“I'm sorry I disturbed your sleep, _minn hjärta_ ,” Ivar muttered, his warm breath tickling the sensitive skin of her neck.

 

“Have you thought about names yet?” His thick voice was sending vibrations through her spine and Moyra shivered, not sure if of fear or something else.

 

Moyra shook her head still not comfortable talking to him, thinking that none of the names she ever considered would be appropriate for a Norseman’s child. Her eyes met his with uncertainty, immediately hypnotized by the thin rim of indigo bordering his enlarged pupils. Moyra wondered if their child would have the same eyes.

 

“We have time, _Elskan_!” Ivar chuckled and Moyra turned her head with a shy smile.

 

“Moyra... It's Moyra,” She whispered, keeping her stare on the flickering flames of the hearth.

 

“Moyra,” Ivar wanted to repeat her name as if he could make up for all the time they have been separated, in flesh and soul. He watched as her eyelids closed, and she drifted into unconsciousness.

 

While many things were still painful between them, Moyra tried to enjoy the moment of contentment as long as it lasted for she didn't know what the tomorrow would bring.

 

 

 

 


	2. Berries and Silver

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ivar is trying to connect with Moyra and their unborn baby, but she is still cautious. As the preparations for the ceremony to free her progress, they get to know more about one another.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I read [ Slavery and Thralldom: The Unfree in Viking Scandinavia](http://www.vikinganswerlady.com/thralls.shtml) on The Viking Answer Lady to write the ceremony in which Moyra was freed:
> 
> Throughout Scandinavia, the universal sigil of the thrall was the slave collar around the neck, combined with short-cropped hair: in Christian times no female thrall was allowed to wear their hair beneath a kerchief, as this was reserved for the lady of the estate. The usual costume of the thrall was a simple tunic or shift of undyed homespun.
> 
> There were few laws regarding slavery. The child of a slave was always a slave, no matter the rank of his father. Wergild was not owing for slaves, although a man who killed another man's slave owed him damages for the value of the thrall, just as he would if he had killed another man's cow or pig. A slave-owner had the obligation to provide medical care and a living for thralls who were injured or crippled in their service. Most slaves could not own property, could not be married, and their children belonged to their owners. The exception to this was in cases where the slave-owner allowed the thrall to work a small portion of land, the proceeds of which were owned by the slave, and thralls could sell any cottage-crafts they produced in their free time. The thrall's goal was to accumulate enough money to eventually purchase his own freedom.
> 
> Aside from self-redemption (purchasing one's own freedom), thralls could be freed by their owners as a gift (especially for long and devoted service), or they could be bought free by a third party. The granting of a thrall's freedom was an occasion for ceremony, as the former thrall had no existence as a human in the eyes of the law until his cash redemption. In most parts of Scandinavia, the freedman was adopted into his master's family, and thus given the rights and duties of any other free person in the law, including testifying or prosecuting cases at law. In Iceland the new freedman was "inducted into the law" (lögleiddr), thus functionally given citizenship into the Icelandic community.
> 
> To seal this adoption, whether into an established family or the entire body politic, the thrall was obligated to first pay down one-half of the redemption price in currency at the time he announced his desire to be freed, then paid the remainder during a ritual known as frelsis-öl, literally a "free-neck-ale", which is usually translated as "freedom -ale-drinking" or freedom feast. The law specified that the first payment, the "freedman's ounces" was to be paid over as six ounces of silver, weighed out on scales in the presence of at least six witnesses. The feast itself was required to have "ale brewed from three measures" (a very strong brew, perhaps in excess of 14% alcohol). Upon paying this sum, the thrall would invite his master formally to be his guest at the freedom feast, where he would be provided with a seat of honor. Next, the freedman would ritually slaughter a sheep by cutting its head off and then "his master is to take his neck redemption off its neck". This seems to have been a rite in which the sheep "stands in" for the former slave, with the slave's old collar around its neck at slaughter time. By slaying the sheep, the new freedman symbolically has killed his old unfree social status, and the bloody neck-ring was presented to the master in token of this. The ale and meat thus provided served as the start of a lavish feast, during which the freedman served the master for the last time as a slave.
> 
> Freedmen did have a somewhat different status from the free-born. Their wergild was always lower than a free-born man's, ranging from one-half to a full wergild, depending on time and location. Everywhere the freedman had ties of obligation to the former owner, a sort of "honored family retainer" status, "duties of respectfulness in attitude and behavior, socially expected and legally required." Freedmen were expected to request and get their master's approval for business undertakings, marriage, lawsuits etc. A freedman could not move his residence without explicit permission. Any amounts of money won by the freedman in a lawsuit were to be split evenly with the master as well. The former owner also by law served as the freedman's heir if there were no legitimate children born after the former slave was freed, but always inherited some portion after the freedman's legitimate children as well. Freedmen who failed to observe these restrictions of guardianship could be legally re-enslaved for "lack of gratitude" towards their former owners. In return, the master owed the freedman support, advice, legal protection, and maintenance.

 

* * *

 

 

 

“Ubbe and Erik will be witnesses of the payment for your freedom. I'm considering summoning Haakon too. What do you think, _Elskan mín_?”

 

Moyra was sitting next to the hearth, sewing a new tunic for the baby when Ivar's voice echoed through the hall. She looked up at him, and the distraction was enough to make her prick her finger with the needle.

 

Noticing how she grimaced and grunted, Ivar ran to her, kneeling at her feet, “I'm sorry, Moyra!”

 

“It's just a small drop of blood.” Moyra lifted her finger and sucked the blood into her mouth.

 

“See? It's gone.” Moyra smiled down at him, showing her finger.

 

Ivar laughed, imagining her consoling their child with the same soft voice and tenderness.

 

“You were saying…” Moyra felt blood rushing to her cheeks and shifted her attention to the small piece of clothing that was coming to life by her hands.

 

“What do you think of Haakon being one of the witnesses of the freeing ceremony?” Ivar grasped her hand, noticing her hesitation, “It is a good thing that Hvitserk arrived in time to participate too, huh?”

 

Moyra wished she could stop the shivers that never ceased to run down her spine whenever Haakon was mentioned. The thought of having this man witnessing what could be one of the few happy occasions of her life was frightening. But Moyra couldn’t deny that, at the same time, a part of her wanted him to be forced to see he could no longer threaten her. She would be a free woman and there was nothing he could do to prevent that.

 

“Ingrid will be there too. Would you like that?” He looked up at her expectantly and Moyra couldn't understand her impulse to agree with him.

 

“I'll be happy to have Ingrid there. But…” Moyra pressed her lips together, embarrassed to bring the subject that had been plaguing her mind ever since Màiri explained the requirements for her freedom.

 

“I have nothing to offer you.” She didn't want her voice to come out so trembling and the idea she was still so weak terrified her.

 

_How can I fight for my child when I can barely talk to Ivar?_

 

“What do you mean? You carry my world within you.” Ivar touched her belly with one hand and cradled her face with the other, trying to make Moyra look at him.

 

“I don't have silver to buy my freedom, Ivar.” She whispered, still reluctant to meet his gaze.

 

“Is that what is keeping you awake?” Moyra gasped, staring down at him at last.

 

Moyra was surprised Ivar had noticed her sleepless nights. She had always stayed motionless, staring at the fire blazing in the hearth as Ivar has his arm around her waist.

 

“I…” She gulped, trying to avert her eyes, but with a curled forefinger under her chin, Ivar forced her to look at him.

 

“Never again I’ll be able to sleep while you’re troubled,” Moving his hand from under her chin to stroke her cheek with his thumb. There was not a hidden intention and she found herself enthralled by his tenderness. However, Moyra still needed an answer.

 

“Ivar?”

 

“The silver, huh?” He smiled, moving his finger from her cheek to her earlobe, “What a beautiful earring you have here.” Ivar blinked and Moyra frowned at him.

 

“That’s not mine,” Moyra shifted in her seat, feeling the baby stirring.

 

“Of course it’s yours. I gave it to you,” Ivar brought both hands to her belly, talking to their baby and Moyra knew the discussion was over.

 

  

* * *

 

  

She was distracted, knitting mittens for the baby, “I can’t have you scratching your plump cheeks, can I? And I think you will come with the Winter.” She smiled, stopping to caress the spot she had just felt a kick.

 

“I can’t promise I won’t pinch or nibble your cheeks though.” Moyra laughed when the baby kept moving as if it could understand her words.

 

 Moyra doubted one day she wouldn't be able to distinguish the footsteps that were making the floorboards creak.

 

“I’m back.”

 

She couldn’t understand why she always felt the urge to stop talking to her baby when Ivar was around. Maybe she wanted to maintain the secluded bliss she was able to enjoy after the initial shock of the discovery and the uncertainty of Ivar's return. This possibility was better than thinking she wanted to keep the child for herself in some sort of punishment for what Ivar has done to her or for not being around when she needed him the most. Moyra knew Ivar had as many rights to the baby as her. Maybe even more. She was still unsure about how she felt at the prospect of sharing this baby with him.

 

Moyra had handed a part of the jewelry Ivar gifted her with and he went to the forge to have the precious stones disassembled and the silver melted into ingots or chopped-up.

 

“Here it is, _Kærasta,”_ Ivar opened the bag hanging from his belt and removed one of the shiny ingots to show her.

 

Moyra felt some sadness when she thought about the time the craftsman spent to produce the intricate design of the pieces that were now a mere memory.

 

As that silver, she has been tested with fire and would now be molded into something new. Moyra sighed, thinking that transformation couldn’t happen without some amount of pain and loss.

 

“Are you sad?” Ivar cupped her cheek with one of his large hands and Moyra sighed, eyelids fluttering at the feel of his fingers on her skin, “Tell me!” His voice was as soft as the thumb caressing her cheekbone and Moyra felt blood rushing to her face. He was not demanding but having him hovering over her never ceased to make her uneasy and Moyra had to take deep breaths to gather the courage to look up at him.

 

“How will life be now?” She managed to ask, voice barely above a whisper.

 

“You are trembling…” Ivar murmured, squatting at her feet. A tremble coursed its way through her body, as Ivar held her hand.

 

“How do you want life to be?” Ivar tilted his head, smiling at Moyra. While he felt a sting of guilt for asking about what she wanted, knowing that often human's plans didn't follow the threads woven by the Norns, his need to know what she dreamed of was stronger.  

 

She gulped, astonished by his question. Her lips parted and Ivar waited for an answer, but Moyra seemed hesitant as she pressed her lips together again. He didn’t realize he was frowning as he waited for Moyra to talk and she averted her gaze to speak.

 

“I want my child to be safe and happy,”

 

Ivar smiled despite the knot of sadness brewing in his chest after listening to Moyra referring to their child as only hers. He was resolute to show her he could not only be a loving father. Or more if she allowed him to.

 

  

* * *

 

 

 

Moyra wished she could use Ivar as her shield when Haakon entered the hall, followed by Rhona and Birger, but that day she should step out of his shadow and speak for herself. His cheeks were flushed and, even at distance, Moyra wrinkled her nose at the pungent smell of stale ale coming from him. She imagined how disgusted Rhona must feel when he forces himself on her.  

 

Birger was staring at her belly and when their eyes met, he smiled shyly. Moyra noticed his cheeks were not as hollow as before. In fact, his face was rounder now and considering, after years of malnutrition, Birger was small for his age he looked like a child who learned to walk not long before.

 

Ivar gently squeezed her forearm, “Moyra?”

 

“Huh?” She turned to him, blinking.

 

“The silver,” Ivar muttered under his breath and Moyra turned to

 

“I suppose everyone knows the reason we are gathered here,” Moyra forced herself to focus on Ingrid and Màiri as they smiled at her, “I intend to buy my freedom.”

 

“Let’s weight the silver. Shall we?” Ivar motioned for everyone to sit as Haakon’s gaze kept wandering to Moyra from time to time. As stealthy as a predator, so unnerving that made Moyra’s fingers tremble as she searched for the silver in the small bag hanging from her belt.

 

Moyra gritted her teeth, trying to keep her composure as she placed the silver on one of the plates while Erik used weigh-setting stones until the two plates were balanced.

 

Ivar sat at the head of the table with Hvitserk on his right, and Ubbe on his left. Moyra sat between Ubbe and Ingrid while Haakon sat across from them on the right side of the table. Rhona wrapped both arms around Birger's shoulders as they stood behind Haakon.

 

Ingrid held her sweaty hands under the table and Moyra was grateful to have something more to focus than Haakon sitting on the chair before her.

 

“Does anyone want to test the scale or the stones?” Erik placed both hands on the table, leaning forward and sizing Haakon up with a look of repugnance. Nostrils flared and lips curled in a snarl as he tilted his head.

 

“We don’t have reasons to doubt the King,” Haakon sneered, and his bad breath made Moyra bring a hand over her mouth as the taste of bile scorched the back of her throat.

 

“Moyra?” Ivar called but she couldn't answer, afraid she'd throw up if she opened her mouth.

 

“Come with me, child,” Ingrid whispered in her ear, slipping her arm around Moyra’s waist.

 

Moyra glanced at Ivar just in time to see him hurriedly getting off the chair and almost stumble to the floor in his haste. The next thing she sees is Ivar kneeling by her side. He lifts his hand as if he is about to cup her cheek but stops. Moyra shook her head, determined to endure. She tried to reach for the pitcher of water, ignoring the way everyone was glancing at her and the cold sweat streaming down her forehead.

 

“I serve you,” Màiri filled a cup and lifted it to Moyra’s lips.

 

Moyra nodded and closed her eyes as the fresh water trickled down her throat.

 

She inhaled deeply, trying to find the proper words to perform her part of the ceremony, “I’m sorry for the distraction…” Moyra could see Haakon’s lips curl into a sneer of disgust, clearly fighting with himself to remain subservient do Ivar’s request.

 

“Since there is no objection that I paid half the due sum, I can busy myself with the feast, huh?” Moyra bluntly spoke, offering the most reassuring smile she could muster not to show how much she yearned to be alone with her thoughts.      

  

 

* * *

 

  

The night was warm despite the imminent arrival of Autumn and Moyra felt sweat streaming down her forehead. But it was not the weather making her hands tremble or her throat tighten. That night would change everything, and while she feared what lay ahead, Moyra welcomed the challenge. She was determined not to disappoint her child.

 

Ivar was watching her like a hawk, and while his gaze might have represented a threat in their recent past, now Moyra sensed the worry emanating from him. The notion he was trying to be attentive to her feelings was not completely new, but she has always seen malice in his urge to please her. His motivation had always been to make her more receptive to his lust.

 

The people were gathered in the square and cheered when a sheep was brought to the wooden platform erected for the sacrifices. Moyra gulped when Ivar placed a hand on her shoulder and leaned down to whisper in her ear.

 

“You don't have to do this! An exception can be made because you're with child…”

 

“I must!” She cut him off and placed both hands on the armrests of the chair to rise.

 

Ivar smiled, but Moyra could see he was nervous by the way the corner of his mouth twitched.

 

“A quick slit on the throat will do and you don't even have to look…”

 

“I lived in a farm, Ivar. It won't be the first animal I kill.” Moyra felt an odd satisfaction as Ivar gasped, looking surprised.

 

“You're right!” He muttered and leaned down to kiss her forehead before she walked to the platform to perform the sacrifice.

 

Ivar had explained earlier that the ritual to free her required that an animal would be sacrificed wearing the collar slaves normally wore to mark their status.

 

Moyra gulped once she was close to the sheep and hoped she wouldn't faint once the blood was spilled. She might have been a farmer's daughter, but it felt like in another life. Now Moyra would have to discover what she could be and for that, it was necessary to kill the slave she had never thought she would be.

 

It wouldn't be the first death she would overcome. She had witnessed her brother's suffering and death and her parents' murder. Moyra could barely remember their faces or the maiden she was before Ivar forced himself into her life. Moyra was growing used to loss.

 

Moyra was grateful for the gentle breeze that caressed her face when she held the blade against the animal's throat and, with a precise motion, delivered the death blown.

 

She felt some drops of blood landing on her face and wanted to cover her ears not to listen to the loud squeals as the animal agonized. A powerful kick against her ribs was enough to make her gasp and Ivar ran to her, sliding his arm around her waist.

 

“He kicked!” Moyra sighed, her features softening as the baby stopped moving.

 

“He? Do you think it's a boy?” Ivar tilted his head, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

 

Moyra could sense the underlying apprehension as Ivar frowned at her, still unsure if she was in danger. She nodded and took his hand to place over the spot she felt the baby moving.

 

“I can't feel anything!” Ivar whispered, shifting his gaze to her swollen belly and trying to imagine their child curled up within Moyra.

 

“You have to be patient!” Moyra giggled, lowering her eyes to their joined hands.

 

Ivar wished she could smile more often and felt his heart racing as Moyra affectionately ran her fingers over his knuckles. He wondered if she realized what she was doing and how much such a small gesture was affecting him.

 

“I will be...” Ivar stuttered and Moyra stopped caressing his hand to look up at him.

 

“I will be patient,” Ivar vowed, mesmerized by the crimson droplets splattered over her face.

 

Ivar lifted his hand, intending to wipe away the blood from her cheeks. Her skin was warm, and he wished Moyra was not afraid when she inhaled deeply, and her eyelashes fluttered.

 

“The feast,” Moyra reminded and Ivar pressed his forehead on hers, closing his eyes and breathing heavily.

 

Moyra pulled away to collect the bloody collar that was around the sheep’s neck and presented it to Ivar in token of her new status as a free woman.

 

 

* * *

 

  

I am still amazed at the amount and variety of the food Ivar wanted to be served for the occasion. The tables creak under the weight of all the dishes. Spit-roasted beef and lamb, covered in a rosemary and parsley sauce, and spit-roasted swine topped with a honey glaze. Fruit freshly harvested and baked with goat cheese and hazelnuts. Oat loaves Ingrid insisted to bring. There are two kinds of mead, ale, and a fruity-smelling red drink Ivar said a merchant brought from a place called Frankia.

 

“Ivar?” Moyra whispered as she leaned forward to pour ale into his goblet.

 

“I think you should sit now. No one expects a heavily pregnant woman to serve all night.” He held her wrist, caressing the sensitive skin with his thumb. “You must eat.”

 

Moyra looked around and her gaze fell on Rhona and Birger. She doubted Haakon spared Rhona from the heavy work while she carried the child he forced on her.

 

Ivar frowned, able to read her so well. He knew what was weighing on her mind as Moyra glanced at Rhona and Birger, even if she didn’t say it.

 

“I would never treat you that way. I hope you believe it.” Ivar said suddenly, startling Moyra from her trance, “You’re a free woman.”

 

“What does it mean? What will change now, Ivar?” She sat, staring at him.

 

“It means you don’t belong to me anymore… unless you want to…” His eyes twinkled warmly as he spoke, but Moyra noticed Ivar was as apprehensive as her.

 

_How would it be to belong to him by my choice? How can that be different than being his slave? What will Ivar expect from me if I am to be his wife?_

 

“I still don’t know what I want to myself, Ivar. Now that the path is open before me… I-I need to think now that I have a choice,”  

 

“I understand. Yes, I understand. No matter what it is your decision, I will provide for you and our child.” Ivar beamed at her, reaching over to cover her trembling hands with his. 

 

“Don’t you think that’s too much?” Moyra asked as quietly as possible when Màiri filled her plate with many slices of the roasted lamb.

 

“What?” Ivar chuckled, watching as Moyra leaned down to inhale deeply, savoring the aroma of the steaming meat.

 

Moyra arched her eyebrows and Ivar laughed, throwing his head back.

 

“The people love an excuse for a lavish feast, and _you_ are giving it to them. They will never forget the day you were freed and that’s the purpose of this feast. With time, the memories tend to blur and fade, but no one will ever forget the Frankish wine they savored when Moyra became a free woman.” Ivar finished with a proud smirk and lifted his goblet to his lips.

 

“Besides,” Ivar murmured in her ear, “See how Hvitserk is enjoying himself.” Ivar chuckled, watching how her eyelids fluttered at the feeling of his hot breath on her skin. Moyra didn't know how to feel about Ubbe sailing away with Hvitserk. Ivar's brother had been there during the first and troubled months of her pregnancy and the notion she should now rely on Ivar was unsettling.

 

“Do you whisper in any free woman’s ears?” Moyra turned to look at him, pressing her lips together into a thin line.

 

Ivar licked his lips as he slowly examined her face, trying to understand if her question meant jealousy or if Moyra was only exercising her freedom.

 

_She needed me to stop._

 

Ivar leaned his head against the chair, flashing her a wicked smirk.

 

Moyra shrugged, shifting her attention to her plate. All the wearisome preparations seemed worth it once she started chewing the tender lamb. Ivar watched her like a hawk. Almost as if waiting for Moyra to surrender and peek at him out of the corner of her eye. She didn’t, even though it was becoming harder, and irritating, to ignore the weight of his stare.  

 

"My friends," Ivar's hoarse voice interrupted her thoughts and Moyra turned to peek at Ivar as he stood up from his chair at the center of the high table, addressing the guests, "raise your cups with me in celebration of Moyra's freedom.”

 

“When will we get drunk at the wedding?” Someone in the crowd shouted and Moyra felt her heart skipping a beat and her eyes darted around the hall as if in search of someone who could rescue of the uncomfortable situation. The fact Ivar turned to look at her with a wolfish grin was not helping at all. The silence was as unnerving as all the eyes turning to her in expectation.

 

“I have to convince her to marry me first,” Ivar guffawed and Moyra glared at him.

 

The crowd erupted into raucous laughter and cheers and howbeit Moyra felt her cheeks heating up because of the embarrassment, she was secretly thankful the attention was not on her anymore.

 

“ _Elskan_ , you barely touched your food,” Ivar rasped under his breath, sitting once more, “Are you feeling sick?”

 

“That's too much food,” Moyra gulped, placing her palm over her stomach as if she could ease the heartburn.

 

“How can I help you?” Ivar placed his hand over hers, frowning and Moyra could hear worry in his voice. But there was more. Moyra sensed another emotion she couldn’t quite name.

 

“There is not much we can do.” Moyra sipped some water to relieve the burning in her throat.

 

“I must eat small portions and Ingrid told I should drink a tea made of the roots of a plant the merchants bring from time to time. Mint or fennels seeds tea help sometimes. But I can’t drink too much while eating. Just small sips,” she could feel her face heating under his scrutiny and found herself talking fast and averting her gaze to where their hands were joined.

 

“Oh! And raspberry’s leaves are good for tea too,” Moyra jabbered, waving her free hand in the air.

 

Ivar smiled, desiring nothing more than to surrender to the twinge of happiness he enjoyed at the sight of Moyra finally sharing something about their child. But the emotion was quickly replaced by remorse and shame when he started to realize the extent of the risk she was being forced to endure and the sacrifice required to nurture and birth the child he forced on her.  

 

“I’m sorry,” Moyra saw guilt washing over his face and tilted her head in confusion, “I shouldn’t have insisted for you to eat too much.”

 

They stared at each other in silence, until Màiri shifted closer, holding a cup.

 

“I noticed your discomfort,” Màiri stuttered as her gaze shifted to Ivar.

 

“Thank you, Màiri,” Moyra muttered, smiling at her and recoiling her hand from Ivar’s grasp to hold the cup.

 

“What is this?” Ivar frowned, leaning closer to see what was in her cup.

 

“It’s mine,” Moyra chuckled and Ivar blinked, surprised by her playfulness.

 

“Raspberry leaf tea and…” Moyra lifted the cup closer to her nose, closing her eyes as she breathed in the sweet steam rising to her face, “honey.”

 

Hours passed in a blur of dance and music and Ivar noticed how Moyra tried to conceal her exhaustion, but Ivar noticed her biting her lips not to yawn, and her watery eyes.

 

“I think you need to go to bed,” Ivar leaned closer, whispering in her ear.

 

“But…” Moyra whimpered, looking around.

 

“They will understand,” Ivar ran his thumb across her cheek and tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear. Moyra nodded, welcoming his assistance to rise from her seat.

 

She knew it would be rude to leave the feast without addressing the guests, but Moyra felt cold sweat beading on her forehead at the idea of raising her voice to talk to the crowd.

 

“My friends,” Moyra sighed softly when Ivar spoke, his left hand around her waist, “we are grateful that you fill our hall with joy in celebration of Moyra’s freedom, but…” Ivar chuckled, pausing for the cheers he knew would come and moved his right palm to her round belly, “a pregnant woman must rest.”

 

Moyra looked down from the high table as the people roared and stomped their approval.

 

“Please, enjoy the feast,” Moyra said when the noise died down and a final round of toasts went up.

 

“You can stay a little more,” Moyra proposed, looking up at him, “Màiri can help me to bed.” Ivar reciprocated her shy smile despite the dryness in his mouth and watched as Moyra and Màiri walked away.

 

 

* * *

 

 

The muffled noise didn’t prevent her from dozing off while Màiri massaged her swollen feet.

 

“What is this for?” Ivar stepped in the room, gesturing to the little bottle in Màiri’s hands.

 

“It’s an ointment to help the blood to flow,” Màiri replied, finishing her massage and covering Moyra’s feet.

 

“Do you do this every night?” Ivar reached up for the little bottle of oil, lifting it to his nose, “What is in it?”

 

“I don’t know for sure. Ingrid gave it to us the last time she came here and showed me where to apply pressure to soothe her spasming muscles,” Màiri watched him warily and wondered what Ivar was thinking as his jaw clenched.

 

“Uh huh,” Ivar nodded absently.

 

“Can I help with anything else?”

 

“No! You can rest, Màiri.” Ivar dismissed her with a wave of his hand.   

 

Ivar was torn between undressing and joining Moyra in bed or watching how peacefully she was sleeping. Enthralled, he saw her dark eyelashes resting on her cheeks. During the day her eyebrows were often furrowed in either confusion or defiance, but now her face was serene. Unable to resist, he bent down to kiss her forehead. All he wanted was for her to be as peaceful as she looked in that moment and Ivar was determined to do anything to make that happen.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote Ivar melting the silver meant to be the payment for Moyra's freedom because of narrative reasons, but coins and other silver objects such as jewelry, ingots or plate might be kept whole or cut into pieces and weighed in the quantity required using scales. The term used to describe these cut up silver objects is hacksilver. For high-value transactions, silver ingots were used.
> 
> "At the beginning of the Viking age, silver and gold in the form of jewellery were primarily used to display personal wealth and gain status. Silver or gold gifts were exchanged to secure social and political relationships. Silver and to a lesser extent gold became the basis for the Viking economy. Coins, first Islamic coins and later Anglo-Saxon and German coins, were valued mainly as a source of the precious metal as raw material. Vikings were not interested in the denominations of coins; their value was measured by weight of metal. Many coins traded in the Viking age show the marks of being pecked with the point of a knife to test the purity of the metal."
> 
> [Viking Scales ](http://www.teachinghistory100.org/objects/about_the_object/viking_scales_and_weights)
> 
> I researched how heartburn could have been treated with herbs and I saw that ginger, fennel seeds or raspberry leaf tea is quite helpful. Raspberry wouldn't be difficult to find in Viking Age Ireland, but ginger and fennel seeds would probably be available because of the Viking trade route.
> 
> [ Home Remedies for Heartburn During Pregnancy](https://parenting.firstcry.com/articles/15-best-home-remedies-for-heartburn-acidity-during-pregnancy/)
> 
> During European middle ages, raspberry was recognized as a favorite women’s tonic, being used to soothe many of the complaints of the fertile years. Wealthy medieval Europeans used raspberry for food and as a pigment as well. In early Christian artwork, raspberries were used to symbolize kindness. Raspberry’s red juice invoked the energy of the blood, which runs from the heart and carries love, nutrition, and kindness through the body. In Germany, raspberry was used to tame bewitched horses by tying a bit of the cane to the horse’s body.
> 
> [Raspberry History, Folklore, Myth, and Magic](https://www.thepracticalherbalist.com/holistic-medicine-library/raspberry-myth-and-magic/)
> 
> Raspberries are also thought to have many medicinal benefits. Many of these are associated with childbirth and pregnancy. The berries and leaves contain many minerals such as iron, phosphorus, potassium, and magnesium which help enrich the blood by carrying iron from parts of the body such as the liver, spleen, and bone marrow to reproductive organs. English herbalists believed that pregnant women that drank raspberry tea would not experience problems during. Cherokee women drank raspberry juice during labor believing the same thing. Native Americans also believed that it would help with nausea felt during pregnancy. Gargling with the juice was believed to help relieve sore throats. Also, rubbing joints with the canes of the fruit is thought to ease pain.
> 
> Pagan tradition echoes this in that the three leaves are thought to represent the three-fold Earth or Mother Goddess. 
> 
> "In mythology, strawberries are connected to the Norse goddess of love, Freyja. The spirits of children would enter the afterlife by hiding in strawberries that are taken by Frigga."
> 
> [Berries as symbols and in folklore](https://cpb-us-e1.wpmucdn.com/blogs.cornell.edu/dist/0/7265/files/2016/12/berryfolklore-2ljzt0q.pdf)

**Author's Note:**

> **"In mythology, strawberries are connected to the Norse goddess of love, Freyja. The spirits of children would enter the afterlife by hiding in strawberries that are taken to heaven by Frigga."**
> 
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> **Raspberries are also thought to have many medicinal benefits. Many of these are associated around childbirth and pregnancy. The berries and leaves contain many minerals such as iron, phosphorus, potassium, and magnesium which help enrich the blood by carrying iron from parts of the body such as the liver, spleen, and bone marrow to reproductive organs. English herbalists believed that pregnant women that drank raspberry tea would not experience problems during. Cherokee women drank raspberry juice during labor believing the same thing. Native Americans also believed that it would help with nausea felt during pregnancy. Gargling with the juice was believed to help relieve sore throats. Also, rubbing joints with the canes of the fruit is thought to ease pain.**
> 
>  
> 
>  ****  
>  **[Berries as symbols and in folklore](https://cpb-us-e1.wpmucdn.com/blogs.cornell.edu/dist/0/7265/files/2016/12/berryfolklore-2ljzt0q.pdf)**  
>  By the European middle ages, raspberry was recognized as a favorite women’s tonic, being used to soothe many of the complaints of the fertile years. Wealthy medieval Europeans used raspberry for food and as a pigment as well. In early Christian artwork, raspberries were used to symbolize kindness. Raspberry’s red juice invoked the energy of the blood, which runs from the heart and carries love, nutrition, and kindness through the body. In Germany, raspberry was used to tame bewitched horses by tying a bit of the cane to the horse’s body.
> 
>  **[Raspberry History, Folklore, Myth, and Magic](https://www.thepracticalherbalist.com/holistic-medicine-library/raspberry-myth-and-magic/)**  
>  Vegetables were not cultivated at all in Ireland until around the 8th century, before that wild leaves, roots, berries and fungi were eaten. When they did arrive, the main vegetables grown were carrots, parsnips, celery, turnip, cabbage and onion.
> 
>  
> 
> [Food in Early Ireland](https://www.dochara.com/the-irish/food-history/food-in-early-ireland/)
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> The siege to Dumbarton Rock - Dun Breatann, 'fortress of the Britons', also called Alcluith/Ail Cluaithe, 'the Clyde rock' - the ancient capital of the Scottish kingdom of Strathclyde is recorded in 870 by the Annals of Ulster, three years before Ivar's death. But, I will take a poetic license to change the storyline. Hahahaha.
> 
> "When the two armies met at the foot of the Rock, Ivar and Olaf took the decision to starve out the Britons. [...] The spoils of war Ivar, Olaf and their armies are said to have laid waste to the Rock. All of its buildings were destroyed and every item of value was taken. Those Britons spared their lives were taken as slaves. The king of Alt Clud, Artgal mac Dumnagual, was taken prisoner. The Vikings are said to have required some 200 longboats to transfer their men and the spoils of war back to Dublin."
> 
> [Ivar the Boneless and a brutal viking invasion of Scotland](http://www.scotsman.com/heritage/people-places/ivar-the-boneless-and-a-brutal-viking-invasion-of-scotland-1-4309332)  
> "The siege of Ail Cluaithe by the Norsemen: Amlaíb and Ímar, two kings of the Norsemen, laid siege to the fortress and at the end of four months they destroyed and plundered it."
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> [The Annals of Ulster](https://celt.ucc.ie/published/T100001A/)


End file.
